Every time a woman was about to light a cigarette, one of Eman’s lesser-known bridesmaids would swoop in to light it for her. Eman was always quick to point this out, that she’d barely known the girl, but that she’d managed to find her way into their social circle and had practically begged for a role in the wedding. Most everyone seemed uncomfortable by the gesture, scooting away as her hand approached, then reluctantly moving back toward the flame. I played along with their reactions, raising my brows, rolling my eyes as she put away her lighter.

It was the summer before college, and my mother and I had flown from Amman to Beirut for a week for Eman’s wedding. In lieu of academics, Eman had devoted the majority of her energy at Lebanese American University to finding a husband, and by the time she was twenty-three she was engaged to a Lebanese chiropractor. In the days leading up to the event we speculated about the lesser-known bridesmaid’s sexual orientation. “I think she’s a lesbian,” Eman said, and we joked about her hitting on me and the other female guests. I felt guilty laughing along. But I was afraid if I didn’t, they would see through to my secret.

Sometimes I would try to communicate recognition to the bridesmaid, burning a deep stare into her eyes whenever she’d offer to light my cigarette. I wanted her to know, but never for anyone else to suspect.

Stereotypes exist for the inhabitants of different Arab cities. People from the Syrian town of Homs are reputed to be dim. Tulkarem in the West Bank is made up of hillbillies—fellayin, the Arabic word for peasants. Folks from the village of Isdud—now the city of Ashdod—are cheap. “They heat up their leftover salad and serve it for dinner,” the expression goes. In Gaza, the girls are all lesbians. Maybe the stereotype stems from their geographical isolation from the rest of the country; women turn to each other for lack of more options. Regardless, it is implied that as a Palestinian, to be gay is unacceptable. “I’m homophobic,” a cousin once proudly asserted before telling a story about visiting Mykonos. “I just feel sick when I see two guys together,” he clarified, as though informing us that he was lactose intolerant.

To be a woman who desired other women seemed even worse, especially shameful and shocking in its lack of reverence for the male-centric culture. Why would you want to exclude men, the stronger, better gender, from the equation?